


Teach Me

by diemarysues



Series: Marriage in the Manner of Dwarves [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When we wake, and it’s your turn to have me, then I am going to show you how cruel I can be.”</p>
<p>Sequel to 'I Wish It'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teach Me

It was not the first time that Bilbo had woken up in Thorin’s bed, and it was not the first time he’d found himself curled up against the Dwarf’s larger frame. It was, however, the first time he’d done so while they were both under the covers… and completely unclothed.

 

More importantly, it was also the first time they’d woken up together since they’d been married.

 

Bilbo knew his smile would hurt his cheeks if he kept it up for long enough, but it didn’t stop him as he gazed at Thorin. His husband slept on his back, left hand resting on the pillows between them. His face was relaxed and his breaths quiet; luckily for them both, Thorin did not snore. Just because Bilbo was now able to sleep with Dwarves within hearing distance didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

 

Now there was no exasperation or annoyance. Bilbo felt completely at peace – though the air thinned as he considered that the King Under the Mountain was now _his_. Only his.

 

Several years ago, if he’d been informed that he would happily bind himself to a Dwarf, Bilbo would have laughed himself silly and made a hasty retreat from whoever had told him that. Yet now he was beside a King of Dwarves after a long courtship and the most _wonderful_ of nights, and he couldn’t think of anywhere he wanted to be more than right there in that moment.

 

Shifting so he could prop his head up on a hand, Bilbo gazed at the silver streaked hair fanned against the pillow. White lilac. Doubtless they were withered on the dresser, but yesterday they’d been beautiful pinned in Thorin’s dark hair.

 

His eyes moved on to other parts of his husband, greedily taking in the beauty of his nose, the paleness of his thin lips, and the strong line of his jaw. Bilbo’s skin prickled as he remembered the sweet burn of Thorin’s beard; he was certain that he would be content to do nothing else for the rest of his life beyond dragging his fingers through it. Thorin might object to being treated like a pet, but Bilbo was sure that he wouldn’t mind overly much.

 

Probably.

 

As Bilbo continued with his inspection, he found that he had to clench his free hand in the sheets. It helped to curb the horrid temptation to thread his fingers into Thorin’s chest hair and create curlicues all the way down his body.

 

Of course, keeping his hand occupied was good for other reasons. If it wandered too far down, Bilbo might just slip it under the – rather conveniently positioned – sheet. There would be more curls there, certainly, though he’d be more interested in –

 

“Staring is rude.”

 

Bilbo hummed noncommittally, continuing to do just that for a few more minutes, until he finally realised that Thorin was waiting for a response. Obligingly raising his gaze, he touched his thumb just beneath Thorin’s lower lip. “I have good reason to stare, I think.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“This’s our first morning together as husbands.” Bilbo smiled warmly at the affection in Thorin’s eyes. “I want to commit the sight to memory.”

 

Thorin caught his hand and pressed a kiss to the middle of his palm. “How sweet your tongue is, my poet. I’m glad I had a taste last night.”

 

Bilbo burst out laughing at this, unable to help himself. He did try to stifle his amusement for Thorin’s sake, putting his hand over his mouth until only the occasional giggle escaped. Oh, it was a good thing he’d not asked for a song during their courtship. He said as much to Thorin before realising; luckily for him, his husband merely smiled. Bilbo returned it. “Good morning.”

 

“It is.” Thorin half-rolled onto Bilbo, their legs sliding together sinuously under the sheets. His eyes were pale slits beneath his eyelids and his arm was possessive around Bilbo’s waist. “And you know what else?”

 

“No doubt you’re going to tell me.”

 

Thorin leaned close. “It can become better.”

 

Bilbo laughed, trying to squirm away. When that failed, he clapped a hand over his mouth and pushed at Thorin’s face with his other. “No! Your breath is fouler than a Troll’s! Get away from me!”

 

“Never.” Thorin chuckled, holding Bilbo in place as he rained kisses on his hands and whatever parts of his face his hands didn’t shield. “I’ve caught you, Bilbo Baggins, and I fully intend on keeping you.”

 

“You’d best not keep me from my food,” Bilbo retorted, voice muffled. With excellent timing, his stomach chose this moment to rumble loudly, and Thorin flopped onto his back, breathless with low laughter.

 

“Go then, you greedy thing. Get yourself cleaned and I shall see to breakfast.”

 

“Ah, you’re good for something, at least.” He grinned and pressed a lightning-quick peck to Thorin’s temple before he rolled out from under the covers. Rather impudently, Bilbo decided not to bother with his dressing gown (which was sadly crumpled on the ground) as he walked to the washroom.

 

He could feel Thorin’s eyes on his retreating form.

 

It didn’t take long for Bilbo to go through his morning ablutions – and luckily, Thorin was thoughtful enough to bring in a fresh towel and a new dressing gown. (Literally new, as he’d never seen it before; the hexagonal gold-on-brown pattern was quite fetching, though.)

 

Breakfast was a tray of cold meats and cheeses, alongside cherry tomatoes, red grapes, and pitted olives. It was set on a low table by the fireplace, between the armchairs there. Thorin raised his eyes expectantly after Bilbo’s inspection.

 

“At least you have the sense not to eat on the bed.”

 

“Vicious Hobbit.” Thorin dropped a kiss to the top of honey-brown curls and slipped past to enter the bathroom himself.

 

Left alone, Bilbo mournfully sat in one of the chairs. It was with a long-suffering sigh that he stared at the food, and decided to politely wait for Thorin before eating.

 

His stomach complained plaintively at this.

 

Thankfully, distraction came quickly when he folded his hands and caught sight of the ring he’d been gifted with.

 

Unlike the only other piece of jewellery he owned, this was not a simple band of gold. The stone set into the ring was as big as his fingernail. It was mostly a deep red, though its centre was white-orange, making it look like it was glowing from within. Edging the upper right corner were flecks of blue like stars in a clear night sky.

 

_Take this ring, then, to signify the life we will now build together._

 

Bilbo ran his forefinger around the stone. Naturally, he and Thorin did not need rings to ‘prove’ their commitment to one another; having the physical confirmation still sent shivers down his spine. It was a simple enough thing – and thank all that was good that Thorin had had restraint in choosing it – and Bilbo was quite sure that he’d be hard pressed to remove it for even the most practical of reasons.

 

He smiled, shifting in his seat to tuck his feet under him. Barely a day married and he was already giddy with happiness. Would that happiness just continue to grow each day, or would it eventually plateau?

 

“You didn’t have to wait, my One.” Thorin’s sudden appearance startled Bilbo. He stood to the side in a plain tunic and trousers, both black. It was with interest that Bilbo noted his lovely long toes were still on display.

 

“I’m not going to starve in a few moments,” Bilbo said snootily. “I survived Mirkwood same as you.”

 

“Very true.” He sat himself down on the floor, folding his legs. “Shall we?”

 

They quickly settled into breakfast, Thorin’s appetite only almost as big as Bilbo’s. Their conversation was light, with Bilbo nudging Thorin’s side whenever his husband said something clever – which was every so often. Finally Thorin wrapped his hand around Bilbo’s ankle so he could hold the foot steady.

 

This ended up being a mistake on Thorin’s part.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

Bilbo exhaled deeply and tried to return to his relaxed state before Thorin had caught hold of him. He failed. “Nothing – nothing’s the matter.”

 

“I believe that.” Heavy sarcasm coloured Thorin’s voice. As his fingers tightened their grasp, Bilbo reflexively sucked in a gasp. Thorin frowned. “Bilbo. Tell me what is wrong.”

 

“I told you: nothing’s wrong.”

 

“And yet you’re tauter than a bowstring. I’m not a fool.”

 

He pursed his lips, wishing he could tear out of Thorin’s grip. But that wouldn’t help his husband’s suspicion any. “No, you’re not a fool – and since you’re not, you’ll drop it.”

 

“Drop the subject, or drop your foot?” Thorin mockingly asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Both.”

 

He did neither, those thick eyebrows only rising higher. “So. You dislike me touching your foot.”

 

That… wasn’t quite the truth, but it would work. Bilbo tugged at Thorin’s hold experimentally; he was still caught fast. He frowned. “Let me go, then.”

 

“Tell me why, first.”

 

Instead of refusing flat out, Bilbo looked away, shame climbing up his spine as his face grew hot. He could somehow tell when the realisation dawned in Thorin.

 

“Oh.” His husband’s touch gentled suddenly, his big thumb smoothing over the curve of his ankle. Bilbo shuddered. “I see.”

 

He shut his eyes. Not looking at Thorin would help him ignore the flutters of arousal pooling in his belly, surely. Not looking at Thorin would ensure that he’d not be able to see the disgust no doubt present in his gaze. This shameful reaction of his was not a recent discovery; Thorin had before touched his feet when they’d still been courting. Still, that had only been the once – and had lead to a very uncomfortable horse ride – and Bilbo had actually forgotten what it did to him.

 

He could not forget now. Not with, not with Thorin’s fingers now so lightly trailing through his curls, and then over the tops of his toes.

 

“You didn’t behave like this yesterday,” Thorin said quietly.

 

Bilbo almost couldn’t think of what Thorin was referring to – his stroking was of no help – and then his mind was filled with memories of being held down with thin lips trailing down his body. His eyes opened as he gasped again. He met Thorin’s eyes; and the lack of revulsion in them perhaps emboldened Bilbo.

 

“I had other things to occupy me at the time.” As Thorin’s expression grew heated, Bilbo felt his lust glow brighter. “You were very distracting.”

 

“You were cruel to me.” His husband shifted closer so he could rest Bilbo’s foot on his lap. He used the forefinger of his other hand to draw an invisible line down Bilbo’s calf. “I was merely trying to return the favour.”

 

Bilbo swallowed, breathing already starting to grow rough around the edges. “You promised you’d do that today.”

 

“Be cruel?” Thorin asked thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I did.” And he lifted Bilbo’s foot, bending his body to meet it halfway with a kiss to the side of his big toe.

 

Hobbit feet were not sensitive. As beings that went about their business without the protection of shoes – though they would call it a hindrance – their soles had to be tough enough to take the wear and tear of walking and running through all sorts of terrain. They stood up (pun unintentional) quite well in extremes of temperature and otherwise more than adequate when compared to cumbersome slippers or shoes or boots.

 

Despite all this, Bilbo found his hands had clenched around his new dressing gown, the fabric bunched and peeking through his fingers. Utterly, utterly breathless, he watched Thorin place kiss after worshipful kiss up the inner arch of his food, and then further up along his instep. Bilbo sunk his teeth into his lower lip, pre-emptively stopping himself from letting loose any sound.

 

The soft scrape of Thorin’s beard was the farthest thing from ticklish. Bilbo’s toes curled as he desperately tried to think past the rushing in his ears. Dimly he was aware that the fire needed to be stoked, and that they should really ask for their empty crockery to be cleared away – but it was hard enough to keep his breathing even. Stringing together enough words to convey his thoughts was currently beyond him.

 

Eyes ever intent on his husband, Thorin then opened his mouth against Bilbo’s ankle. His tongue flicked out to taste.

 

“Thorin, please… please don’t…”

The King paused.

 

“Please don’t stop.” He shouldn’t have been so ready to beg, but shoulds and should nots weren’t of any concern at the moment. All Bilbo wanted was more; more soft kisses, more teasing touches, more Thorin – and more was what he received.

 

His hands were no longer clenched in his robe. Thorin had moved them aside to each of the armrests before he’d put his own hands on Bilbo’s knees. Now he had his head buried in Bilbo’s lap, mouthing at the silkiness of his inner thighs.

 

Bilbo was floating. There was no other way to describe it. He’d sunk into the too-big armchair, unable to move as Thorin took his time suckling marks into Bilbo’s skin.

 

Thorin’s thumbs rubbed back and forth as he held Bilbo’s legs apart. He seemed to be enjoying himself as he crept farther and farther below the dressing gown, pulling more and more desperate sounds from Bilbo’s throat. No doubt he’d be just as happy to return the favour, but all Bilbo could do was slip his fingers into Thorin’s hair and urge his face away.

 

“Take me to bed,” he demanded.

 

Thorin wasted no time, lifting Bilbo into his arms. It seemed effortless to him and they crossed the room quickly, walking past the screens to the bedroom proper. The dressing gown slipped off one of Bilbo’s shoulders as he was dumped unceremoniously onto the sheets – he didn’t bother righting it. Too absorbed in the view.

 

He didn’t quite know if Thorin was purposely putting on a show, but appreciated it all the same. The Dwarf didn’t remove his shirt and breeches in any special way, but Bilbo’s mouth grew dry all the same as inch after inch was exposed to his greedy eyes. Thorin’s body was strong and lithe and _powerful_. His skin was unevenly pale, scattered with scars and flushed a rosy red. Perfect.

 

“Still staring.”

 

“Shouldn’t I?” Bilbo raised his eyebrows, leaning back on his hands in a clumsy attempt at seduction. “You interrupted me this morning.”

 

“I did, did I?” Thorin still hadn’t made a move towards the bed, despite his husband’s ‘come hither’ eyes. It was annoying. “My apologies.”

 

“Make it up to me.”

 

“Oh, I shall,” Thorin promised, and Bilbo felt shivers run down his spine at the quiet certainty in that deep voice. “But first you’ll close your eyes.”

 

He obeyed the command immediately, lips parting the slightest bit in anticipation of what Thorin had planned. The bed dipped and Bilbo inhaled sharply, almost tasting the soapwort on Thorin’s skin as his husband leaned in close. He wasn’t at all disappointed when Thorin’s mouth closed over his, sighing through his nose at the soft touch against his cheek.

 

The cold glass pressed into his hand was a surprise. He risked a peek – and felt something tug fiercely in his belly when he recognised the curved bottle.

 

Thorin licked at the corner of Bilbo’s mouth, before skating his lips across the generous curve of his cheek. “Pour some out.” His tongue was velvet soft against the shell of Bilbo’s ear. “All over your palm. That’s it.”

 

Thorin’s voice was rumblingly deep, and commanding enough to direct an army. Needless to say, a simple Hobbit like himself was utterly helpless against it.

 

“Now we just…” Thorin inched the hem of Bilbo’s robe up his thighs until his cheeks were bright red – much to Thorin’s delight, he was sure – and then wrapped his fingers around Bilbo’s wrist. “Touch yourself.”

 

“Touch my –” Bilbo didn’t squeak, but it was a near thing. “But I –” He broke off with a small gasp as his hand was pressed over his cock. “Oh – oh, please…”

 

“Show me how you enjoy it.” Thorin kissed him lingeringly. “Teach me.”

 

Hesitantly, slowly, Bilbo did. He worried at his lip as he moved his hand; down the length of his cock, the grip of his fingers firm, before sliding up to tease the head with his thumb. He could feel Thorin’s heavy gaze on him, and was simultaneously struck by bashfulness and daring as he leaned back onto the pillows. He thought he’d be done in by this alone, by his own hand with Thorin watching – but Thorin had other plans.

 

Bilbo’s rhythm faltered and failed as he watched Thorin dribble oil onto his own fingers, and then –

 

And then he –

 

Sweet mercy.

 

Thorin loomed over Bilbo, the motion of his hand never ceasing. Bilbo could only stare, wide-eyed, not even moving when lips brushed over one pointed ear.

 

“You may be wondering how I am so confident in this. In… preparing myself.” His voice was deep and dark. Each word wrapped around Bilbo and held him against the bed, completely at his husband’s mercy. “Do you want to know?”

 

His mind could not provide him with a reply. Bilbo rallied nonetheless; he opened his mouth, only to have Thorin’s teeth close gently around his earlobe. A lustful moan escaped him, nothing more.

 

Thorin moved to nuzzle Bilbo’s cheek, eyelashes whispering across his skin. “Do you want to know, Bilbo?”

 

“Y- _yes_.”

 

“I have done it many times, these past few months. In this very bed.” He dragged his lips back up to the tip of Bilbo’s ear. “Always with you on my mind.”

 

“What –” Bilbo swallowed heavily. His hands lifted as he itched to drag Thorin’s mouth to his, but he aborted the motion, fingers curling into the pillow on either side of his head, uncaring of the oil he was wiping off onto it. “What did you imagine?”

 

“ _Many_ things.”

 

Bilbo’s breath hitched. “Tell me.”

 

A swallow. “In one instance, I am on my knees. You’ve two slicked fingers inside me, twisting and curling.” Thorin’s breath was hot on Bilbo’s face as he panted, muscles in his shoulder and arm visibly flexing as he demonstrated what he was describing. His voice was remarkably steady. Unfairly steady. “You start slowly. Very slowly,” he purred, and stole a kiss. It was the barest press of lips on lips and set Bilbo utterly aflame. “You want me to beg.”

 

“Do you?” Clearing his throat, Bilbo tried to chase after Thorin’s mouth. “Do you beg?”

 

“Not this time.”

 

Which could only mean that Thorin had, at some point in the past few months, imagined himself doing so. Begging Bilbo to go faster, to stop teasing, to allow him release. Bilbo arched his back when Thorin’s cock slid against his clothed belly, and himself begged Thorin to continue.

 

“And then –” Thorin broke off, biting his lip. The arm he was using to support himself trembled slightly.

 

“And then?” Bilbo prompted breathlessly.

 

Blue eyes slit open, cutting into his soul ruthlessly. “And then you slip your tongue in as well, sliding it between your fingers and thrusting deep as you can.” He dropped his head to press one hot cheek to Bilbo’s, beard grazing his smooth skin. “Licking, lapping, warm and wet.”

 

Oh, but that sounded – His skin was bright red as his mind helpfully supplied an image to go with Thorin’s enticing words, but now he, he really wanted to, er, to do _that_. _Perhaps it would keep for another time_ , Bilbo thought, and wickedly took Thorin in his hands.

 

“Bilbo –” he choked out, thrusting forward into the Hobbit’s grip and then thrusting back onto his own fingers.

 

“And then what?” Bilbo asked, slicking the wetness leaking from Thorin’s length down and around as thoroughly as he could, eager to pull more of those desperate sounds from his husband.

 

“Then, as I am on my knees, you push into me. Y-you,” he broke off for a moment, mouth working soundlessly as Bilbo continued tugging on him. “You take me fast and hard.”

 

“Do you want that now?” He rubbed his thumb lightly under the flared lip of Thorin’s cock, listening to his deep throated groan. “Do you?” Bilbo thought of the expanse of back muscles that would be on display as he drove into Thorin, and oh he _wanted_. But he would wait for an answer.

 

Thorin surprised him by shaking his head, no. “I want to face you.” And with no more preamble than that, he batted Bilbo’s hands away and flipped their positions.

 

Bilbo ended up with a face full of Thorin’s chest… which was no bad thing. He nuzzled his nose into the dark hair, slipping down the length of the Dwarf’s body and thrilling in the way he could make Thorin arch and groan.

 

Despite the snarled demands to move more quickly, Bilbo took his time. His nose was perfect for nuzzling the sharp ‘v’ cut into Thorin’s abdomen, after all – and who could blame him for being absolutely taken with the salty tang of Thorin’s skin?

 

He didn’t quite dare to take Thorin into his mouth, though. It wasn’t half too big for his mouth, he thought, and so maybe that could also wait for another time.

 

Thorin’s hand settled on the back of Bilbo’s neck, squeezing gently, and Bilbo looked. A sharp burst of pride sizzled through him as he caught sight of the high points of colour on Thorin’s cheeks. He’d put those there.

 

“Bilbo. Now.” His grip tightened. “Have me now.”

 

“Alright,” Bilbo agreed breathlessly. “Alright. Just let me –”

 

Even though Bilbo’s fingers were much smaller he still coated them in oil, and as he slipped the first into Thorin’s pliant body, he… he whimpered even as Thorin exhaled shakily. He couldn’t comprehend how it would feel when he was buried inside his husband.

 

Certain parts of him were _very_ interested in that prospect.

 

Bilbo found breathing difficult as he watched the muscles in Thorin’s thighs twitch and felt the soft resistance as he added another finger, and then one more. Thorin was so very beautiful, head tossed back against the pillows, chest heaving as he panted, curses emerging past his thin lips on every other breath.

 

He could delay no longer. Pulling out his fingers, Bilbo found himself trembling at the broken sound Thorin made. He somehow managed to slick himself without dropping the bottle of oil or spilling it all over the place, and then lined himself up. He met pale blues before pushing in slowly. Oh.

 

Oh goodness.

 

Bilbo could still feel Thorin’s hand cradling the nape of his neck, but the sensation was strangely muted. All he could think to do was continue forward, thrusting shallowly until he was completely seated.

 

Then he breathed.

 

He’d never thought of himself as particularly impatient, but now he found that he was barely holding on to his control – that relief absolutely flooded him when Thorin nodded. He was allowed to move, and did, exquisitely delirious pleasure rippling through his body. Bilbo didn’t seem to be able to control the speed of his hips; they rolled forward faster and faster, slapping against Thorin’s skin, and that sound was as addictive as the moans that punctuated the room.

 

Sweat made his dressing gown cling to his back. Thorin had caught his fingers in the supple fabric, pulling enough to completely expose Bilbo’s shoulders. He pulled even more so they were within reach of his mouth, then nipped at Bilbo’s collarbone to listen to him whine.

 

“You’re so –” Bilbo swallowed thickly and tried again. “I can’t –”

 

Thorin hushed him. _Faster_ , his eyes said. _Harder_ , his fingers begged.

 

They kissed luxuriously, and Bilbo’s pace faltered as he traded speed for force. The heartfelt groan he got in return was delicious, though, and he linked his fingers with Thorin’s, gripping tight. Their joined hands were pressed against the mattress; glancing at them made Bilbo’s heart thud in his chest.

 

Oh, he couldn’t last. Not with, not with the tight heat enveloping his cock, not with Thorin moving like that against him, not with all the stimulation bombarding his senses. Bilbo licked his top lip and tasted his own sweat, before leaning over Thorin’s neck and tasting his.

 

Thorin started a whispered chant of Bilbo’s name, rocking his body to meet Bilbo’s thrusts. He slipped his free hand down between his legs, taking himself in hand with such aching desperation and that – that image took Bilbo’s breath right out of his chest.

 

Thorin followed soon after, spilling over himself with his back arched and hair spread against the pillows. He looked beautiful, and Bilbo choked back a sob. This, this King of Dwarfs was his alone and that was an incredible, humbling, _impossible_ thought. How had they come to this? How had he deserved to call Thorin his husband?

 

It took more than a few moments for Bilbo’s breathing to even and for his gaze to sharpen. Bending over, he licked away the seed splattered on Thorin’s body. Their bodies still joined, this simple action made Bilbo feel very filthy indeed. He felt Thorin judder under his mouth, sucking in quick breaths through his nose as he finished cleaning his husband.

 

“Didn’t have to do that,” Thorin said when Bilbo looked up. He disentangled his hand from Bilbo’s so he could comb through honey-brown curls.

 

Bilbo merely shrugged, before pulling out with a heartfelt groan. Thorin echoed this. He obligingly shifted aside when Bilbo collapsed next to him, sticky and sated.

 

“You just had to ruin my robe, didn’t you?”

 

Thorin rolled over onto his side and smugly threw an arm around Bilbo. “I told you I could be cruel.”

**Author's Note:**

> If there're any mistakes, or if it sounds rushed towards the end, it's all on me. I get lazy after too much smut.


End file.
